


Mycroft Inna T-shirt

by Marmosette



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:11:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marmosette/pseuds/Marmosette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was dared. Would Mycroft ever wear a T-shirt? And I'd been mumbling around the fact that the United Nations is in New York City, and that at some point, it might be a useful setting. And Greg would find an excuse to go to a baseball game. And then this just happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mycroft Inna T-shirt

Greg came out of the bathroom, still running a hand through his hair. “Okay, so we should... _Holy_ hell!”

He’d expected Mycroft to have changed out of his suit from the earlier meetings. And Mycroft would naturally not wear a three-piece suit to a baseball game. Greg was surprised enough that he had been willing to accompany him, as an extra pair of eyes if nothing else. But this...

“You’re... what?”

Mycroft was looking back at him, quite serious. Not stern, but definitely not understanding, and waiting for Greg to finish a coherent question. Which wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Because:

“You’re wearing a _T-shirt?”_

“Well, obviously.”

Greg didn’t stop gaping. Dark grey, short-sleeved T-shirt. Just that. On Mycroft Holmes. He was aware that Mycroft was wearing more, but it was a T-shirt. And it fit. And it was on Mycroft Holmes.

“Oh... my... God.” Greg felt himself grinning, but couldn’t stop. “Now I know why you don’t do it very often.”

“Do you.” Mycroft gave him a sideways look, and turned away to pick up his phone.

“Fucking hell!” Greg sighed, slapping his hands over his mouth. “Shit. Sorry.” This time he noticed the jeans. “Just, don’t move for a minute, okay?”

Mycroft sighed, but stayed in place, checking his phone while Greg moved within striking distance. “You have seen me in jeans before,” Mycroft said, smiling as Greg’s hands slid across his arse. 

“Not this pair,” Greg said, his voice low and rough. “Believe me, I’d remember it.”

“Good heavens, it’s not like I’m wearing skinny jeans.”

“Last time, though, they were a bit more ...relaxed.”

“I’m going to remember all of this, you know.”

“I’d be gutted if you didn’t,” Greg laughed, sliding his hands around to the front of Mycroft’s jeans. “And I know, I’m supposed to sit next to you and not stare, and I promise, I will. I just...need a little staring first.” He could just see their reflection appearing in the hotel’s window, and Mycroft’s attention was still on his phone. Greg didn’t even care. “You know, you look twenty years younger like this.”

“That is no incentive for me to repeat the experiment, actually.”

“At least twenty years.”

“Now you’re getting illegal as well as disgusting.”

“You were disgusting in your twenties?”

“Probably.”

Greg smiled, resting his chin on Mycroft’s shoulder. Mycroft reached his hand up absently to Greg’s hair, scrolling through a very long list of text on his phone. Greg didn’t even try to read over his shoulder anymore. He used to think Mycroft was just scrolling past the bits he didn’t want to read, but no, that was just how fast Mycroft read.

“Why do I never see you in jeans?”

“You do. We’ve established that.”

“Not like this.”

“Because I’m whimsical and a terrible man, and I despise you and want to keep you as miserable as possible.” He slipped the phone into his pocket and craned his neck to catch Greg’s eye. “Shall we go?”

  



End file.
